


The Scent of Summer

by Pastel Comma (Regina_Hark)



Category: Original Work
Genre: Aftercare, Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, Breeding, Consensual Sex, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Female Character of Color, Height Differences, Interspecies Sex, Knotting, Licking, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mating Rituals, Misunderstandings, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Outdoor Sex, PWP, Rough Sex, Scenting, Size Difference, Size Kink, Werewolves, Witches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-13
Updated: 2016-06-13
Packaged: 2018-07-14 08:47:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7163369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Regina_Hark/pseuds/Pastel%20Comma
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aimee Davis, a college girl from the magical hotspot that is Gardenia Grove, finds herself in a horror movie after meeting a ax-wielding psycho. But as the night goes on, the chase becomes the conquest.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Chase

**Author's Note:**

> Different type of fantasy, same Eileen Keep. Enjoy.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’m a witch.” Aimee said for the umpteenth time. “Fuck off.” she added for good measure.

Aimee ran, her shitty high-heeled summertime wedges doing her no favors in the Midwestern wilderness. Sure, her shoes weren't worth shit. But the jean skirt Aimee was wearing, long and denim-made, was just as bad. Two forces working against her, she was reaching the end of her patience.

It's the county, why didn't she wear shorts?

It's just a party, why didn't she bring another pair of shoes?

God, Aimee do anything for a pair of flats right about now. Upping her average height, these wedges was perfect when you were standing around and looking cute. What else did she come out to Northhill Crux to do than have a quick one night stand with somebody new? Someone that could take her mind off her dismal love life. She sure didn't care about the summer solstice happening tonight. Partying to dawn might seem like a fun waste of time but the actual logistics of it, crazy.

All her friends were in couple-mood too and that soured her desire to drink and talk.

She used to be that. One of them. Those sappy college couples everyone loved to pretend to hate. Part of a sweet lovely-dovely duo with, her boyfriend of two years, Trent. Kissing. Cuddling. Holding hands. Talking late in the long night. They were supposed to leave Gardenia together but he left her. Took the quickest transfer he could to Harvard without even a message. She had to hear it from _his Momma_ of all people. Wondering why a witch girl like herself was haunting her porch, hauling all sorts of potions and medical aids like she was trying to set up shop.

Trent wanted to do the long-distance thing. Aimee decided to go with the silent treatment. Refusing to speak to him until he came back and they talked face-to-face. Trent on phone was a waste of time. He has this way of spinning things where it seemed he was in the right, always in the fucking right, when it came to the shit he would pull. And she'd nod and agree along like the Watson to his Sherlock.

It's been three months now.

No sight of him. No word from her. Guess that showed what he really thought of her. If Trent was here, she would never would have come to this stupid party. And if she hadn't come, Aimee wouldn't be in this predicament.

Tripping over every large root crossing the forest floor, Aimee lost her grip. The black flashlight flew. It clanked against a tree, thudding on the moss-covered bark before taking off. Rolling out of sight. Shit, that was her only light source! Aimee chased after the flashlight, forcing herself to keep on moving. Couldn't stop. Couldn't lose a single second.

That man, that _thing_ was after her.

The flashlight, handle bright with blood, skidded away. Its errant light spun in the moon-lit night, tight frantic circles illuminating the thicket of towering trees and woodlands trails. Even with the moon overhead, Aimee couldn't see much. The canopy of the trees too thick for only the tiniest bit of moonlight to slip through.

She needed that light.

All around Aimee, sounds of the summer solstice college party carried on the wind. From which direction, she didn’t know.

The music, a mix of dubstep and catchy pop beats, echoed through the trees, confusing her sense of direction. Heading back to the party should have been easy. But it wasn't. Heading to where the music sounded the loudest led her to cliffs and hillside gulches. Ignoring it, she walked in circles. But if she went in the opposite direction, avoiding the party, she seemed to be making progress.

Or, and this is the most likely one, she was screwing herself over.

With no clear look at the skies, trying to navigate using the stars was no help either. Aimee had two destinations in mind. The main road where could signal for help from the cars driving on the highway or the party itself, her friends blissfully ignorant of the murderer on the loose.

Aimee didn’t bother trying to check her clothes for her smartphone. Trent used to carry it for her, the perfect boyfriend now ex-boyfriend. Damn it.

The black jean skirt she borrowed from her cousin had pockets too small for her to carry it in. So in her purse it went. And of course, she decided to get some fresh air without bringing her clutch purse along. Aimee mentally screamed, angry for herself for being so stupid. Always bring a phone. Don’t leave a party by yourself. And she knew where that damned purse was. Right there with Kayla, her friend likely locking lips with Jackson, on the kitchen counter.

Aimee bundled up her black jean skirt, dirty and caked with blood, and charged.

Legs lifted high like she was riding a bike, Aimee chased after the flashlight. Twenty-one years old and now she was using her hopscotch skills to make through the underbrush. The stupid thing was still rolling away, the bulb inside flickering like it was about to go out.

Hell no. Not now.

Aimee moved faster, hustling her black ass to catch the thing before it actually broke. Scratchy plants rubbed against her bare legs. The occasional night-time insect buzzed and hovered, bothered by the manic activity. Startled birds called and cried, their sounds a menace since she was trying to _lose_ the murderer. Didn't need him to start honing in on her position.

That's right. Aimee had a _murderer_ on her ass. A real sicko.

Bastard had to have been having a hard time with the darkness. That was her only saving grace. She had a flashlight she took from the party and he a big fucking ax to cut her down with. Aimee frowned. Somehow having a flashlight didn't feel all that reassuring. Might be the shock finally kicking in. That's what happened when you saw a murder scene, right? A real one with all the stench and brutality of the horrible shit that inspired slasher movies.

Aimee was scared. Scared beyond belief, goddamn it.

But, well, she was also lost and the murderer wasn't behind her anymore. Even with the noise of the party, she'd catch the sound of his loud leather boots, the weight of his soles pounding against the earth. And his breathing. That reedy, shuddering sound that passed through his metal mask, thin jagged metal binding the disguise to his white face.

And he was definitely white, the skin on his thick hairy forearms proved so. White serial killer in the woods, how cliche.

Come on, Aimee. Details. She needed details to tell the cops. Aimee racked her head, happily focusing on the statement she'd give to the police. To give a statement must mean she'd make it. The murderer wouldn't get to her. And if all went well, he'd be in police custody by the end of the night.

Okay, so what _did_ she know?

A big man. White. Husky and wide. He was twice her size, imposing with his muscular frame. Brown-haired? Blond? She couldn't tell with the hood he wore on his head, cloaking whatever features the mask missed. But his eyes, she knew his eyes. They were yellow, an animistic gleam to them.

Unforgiving. Unrelenting. Inhuman.

God, those ferocious golden orbs looked straight through her. That moment their eyes met. Aimee knew fear, true fear, then and there and he, _he was only thinking of the quickest way to kill her!_ His hands, well-trained, a wordless brutal history with his every flex, went for his weapon on his back. Him doing all but striking, killing, ending her life. Swift. Smooth. Without mercy or reason.

Same as the others.

Oh god, _the others_. Girls. Three of them. The ones who organized the party in the first place! Names Aimee shamefully couldn’t recall. New girls. Transfers. But their faces, their heads severed from their bodies. That shack they were thrown in- Her eyes watered. No. _No!_ She'll remember them. She would always remember them.

But there was a important detail Aimee was glossing over.

The sort of detail you didn't bring up outside of Gardenia Grove, the city where all sorts of magical freaks and superheroing blowhards gathered. It wasn't all that important. She wasn't in Gardenia anyway.

This was Northhill Crux, woods and forests galore. Nature reserve. Former mining community now a sleepy countryside suburb. People out here didn't have to deal with the same centuries-old supernatural bullshit they did. Probably knew how to keep it under control. None of this blasting it on YouTube or Twitter like people now do. Mad when outsiders said it was all CGI and special effects.

Some old shit you had to respect. Nobody can make magic into their bitch.

In the back of Aimee’s mind, it was tempting to forget about it.

That great wolf, fur a sharp mahogany brown and glinting fangs a pale unsettling white. Teeth so bleak and wet with blood, she nearly could see her reflection. A frightened black girl with frizzy, curly brown hair staring back at her. Wolves that large were omens. Servants of a old ancient thing, a phantom or a dead deity or a monstrous unknowable thing playing by old-school rules. Letting the victim know what was coming their way before they came to collect on whatever slight or insult a human did.

Aimee was okay with that. Wolf familiars. Being born in a witch family came with perks.

But a murderous werewolf on a fucking full moon night?

Nope. Nada.

Run. Run away! Get the living shit out of dodge.

Aimee was consumed by her memories, her pursuit of the flashlight now a trance. The image between each blink of her brown eyes rewinding, replaying. Slow, then fast. Out of order. Out of sync. Before the wolf walked in, the scene before her eyes a half hour ago came into focus.  Two of those girls, headless. That shack behind the party in the country manor. Wood walls bright with violence and blood.

But then it, the wolf, changed. Became him. The murderer.

First thing that sicko did was end the life of the girl she'd tried to save. Aimee thought she could help and she was helping, pressing her hands against the open wound on that blonde girl's neck. Less than a cut and more like a cleaver’s unwieldy chop. Trying as best as she could to keep the precious liquid in. Murderers don't come back to the scene of the crime. Her body moved without her will, holding the girl up and doing what she could.

Aimee screamed for help back then, hollering her head off and he showed up.

Four-legged and in a foul mood, the wolf sniffed around before he shifted.

It was horrible. Bones snapping, flesh rippling, fur receding. Bastard didn’t follow the standard wolf rules either. He wasn’t naked at the end of his transformation. Dressed in a plaid lumberjack shirt and long muddied slacks, the murderer removed the ax from his sling. Then he attacked. Hit her with the blunt end of his weapon. Like a rag doll, she was thrown out of his way. Her body slamming into the shack’s wall, the whole structure buckling under the force. If Aimee been human, her spine would have been snapped into two. Only dazed, she could do nothing as the man finished the last living girl off. The sound of it. The sight.

The images played in her mind, haunting her as the blade went down and red, ruby red, came out.

Aimee shook her head. God, she couldn't think of that now. Had to get away. Had to get far away. Her flashlight thudded against a tree, its light turning on Aimee.

What a fright she must look. Green tank top and jean skirt stained with blood. Grass stains everywhere. White wedges ruined from her hustle in them. Plant stuff was probably in her hair too. Leaves and twigs in her all-natural brown and kinky cascading coils. Tonight, she was supposed to be actually enjoying her new singlehood. And then _this happened_. Shit.

Aimee bent over, grabbing a hold of the flashlight.

Something metal and deadly sailed over her head, whizzing as it sunk into the base of the tree. _The fuck_ \- Aimee froze, teeth chattering as her ears listened out. Boots. That shuddering inhale. God, she forgot. _Werewolf_. Bastard had her scent. He didn't need a light to track her down.

Aimee bolted, directing the light forward.

As fast as she could run, former track star, the jean skirt couldn't keep up. The black fabric clung to her legs, ugly rips rising up the skirt's hem. Aimee used her free hand to hold up the skirt but it wasn't worth the effort. The murderer was right behind her. His hulking steps loud and heavy as he walked. Each step four times the speed of her sprint. _Fucking werewolves_.

That son of a bitch wasn't interested in catching up. He only wanted to line his shot up right.

Aimee ducked left, trying to keep her body low.

Arrows followed.

A barrage of cross-bolts tore through the air, gouging the trees she passed. Still not full of holes like swiss cheese, Aimee carried on. She put all her strenght into her feet, refusing to let a clumsy fall be the end of her. The cross-bolts came one after another, two or four, the murderer knew how to quick draw. Aimee glanced behind her. That cross-bow was old, more rust than machine. Didn't even notch right. The murderer wasting a second and two to keep the weapon from jamming. Each second he lost was another step she gained. He kept on shooting, increasing the arrows fired.

Hadn't he noticed it yet? Aimee lurched right, zig-zagging to fuck with his aim. God, werewolves were dumb.

What was that sicko thinking? He must have been wondering why did his shots keep on missing. Witchblood, baby! The luckiest shit you could have dealing with the supernatural. Call it a blessing or a curse, witches from Gardenia Grove didn't die from just anything. No Swanson riverwater around to fuck with that witchblood either.

What arrowheads that weren't outright diverted to land around Aimee, stopped in mid-air, falling harmlessly.

She couldn't help herself. A Davis was all about pride, after all.

“Hey dick-head, you oughta be thinking twice about picking a fight with me.” she boasted, her bravado sounding almost real. She stuttered only a little. Words at least understandable if not convincingly threatening. “I'm a goddamned Davis. One of the oldest witch covens in these parts. You hear that. I'm a witch, dog breath. Fuck off and maybe you'd might live long enough in custody to see the next full moon.”

He responded with more arrows.

“This is why I hate werewolves.” she shouted. “A vampire would have slowed his roll but you guys, too stupid to comprehend. Do you need me to repeat it for you? Fuck off or I'll curse your entire bloodline to lose all their fingers and teeth. And I'd peel the flesh right off your bones, one layer at a time just to make it hurt-”

Of course, witch shit-talk wasn't worth anything without a spell-bag or some potions to back her claim. The very same items in her purse. Aimee passed a set of smaller trees, the overgrown treeline slowly easing up the further she went. The moon was visible. _Fuck_. That was good for him. And red as always. Wait, what? A blood moon. _Double-fuck_.

Werewolves weren't her specialty.

Aimee didn't care much about magical creatures like Mom and Auntie Teresa did. Didn't care much about witch stuff at all, actually. As a child, Aimee got the general training and whined her way from learning the rest. She didn't want to stay in Gardenia Grove all her life and be a magical freak like the rest of them. Unable to leave because of the irresistible pull of the city once properly trained.

But Aimee knew her random witch trivia.

Red moons to lupine or feline monsters was like catnip and viagra combined, and, from various second-hand testimony, laced with meth. So what the fuck was Mr. Big and Murderous doing out and about? Shouldn't he be holed up in a den somewhere, fucking or getting fucked until the sun came up?

Blood moons were important to witches too.

The best time to go prowling around unfriendly animal shifters' territories. Making out like a bandit with the rare herbs that grew at that special time. So again, what was he doing? Unless chopping up women got him off, and she hoped it didn't, the murderer ought to being feeling the effects strong now.

Middle of the night and right under the moon, he was getting a full dose.

In the distance, Aimee saw it. The orange and welcoming light of a streetlamp. One of many if the smaller dots further on weren't just a trick of the eye. The highway. She was there. Practically on it if she could just make it through this clearing.

Long stalks of grass gave way to a meadow of moon-seeking wildflowers. Pollen flooded the air. Buds open and colorful petals and swaying stems everywhere. Aimee wiggled her nose at the sweet smells, trying to ignore it. She shouldn't be seeing something pleasant while on the run from a crazy werewolf! What was this, a casual stroll? Lighting bugs were everywhere, looking like fallen stars. And stupidly, she thought about Trent. This place would have been special if he was here. She could see it, him taking her by the hand and them dancing in the flowers. It wasn't fair. It wasn't right. Damn, she couldn't keep this up. Running for as long as she had, her energy was nearly gone.

Aimee took a speedy step too many. Her skirt ripped clean through, the tear cutting straight around where her hips met thighs.

Damn, that was an expensive jean skirt.

Her cousin was gonna make her pay for that. Take her eyesight for a few hours. Put her a frog in her throat and let her croak a week. Her cousin Lydia was of the mind that negative reinforcement was a good way to teach the black sheep of their family. If Aimee didn't like the treatment, she should learn the stronger stuff and stop being the public embarrassment.

And everyone in the family agreed with Lydia too. They just didn’t understand.

The obscene rip blazed through the nighttime air, a sound crowding over the all. Except. And this was the important part. The sharp intake of air coming from behind. Him. That wasn't a startled sound but a beastly and wolfy huff. That steely walk of his came to a brief halt. Aimee heard it clearly, those boots and that walk and the aroused silence that followed. The heat of his eyes warmed her exposed backside, dark black cheeks waving goodbye as she got away. In simple words, he was staring at her ass.

Something human in him after all. Lust. Something animal too. Want.

Tonight, Aimee was given a simple problem. Werewolf plus blood moon equals easily distracted wolf-man. Something she could exploit if things went the way of the girls from before. The murderer wasn't a regular werewolf either. Instead of rushing at her and trying to sniff and cuff, he restrained himself. Went right back to it. Trying to murder her with his crossbow.

That had to be fixed.

Now in a impromptu mini-skirt, her toned thick thighs were free to tease him. Dewy perspiration glistening on her soft curves and plump backside. The skirt's new skimpy hem-line waved and flaunted her silky blue panties. The underwear matching the bra she was wearing. Going out on a limb, nerves driving her on, every few seconds she pretended to trip. Investing on her little equation.

Thick ass-cheeks jiggling as Aimee leaned over, letting him see the enticing peep-show for his eyes only.

Those quick breaths of his soon became grunts. Then gulps. Then loud shameless desperate intakes. Teeth audible grinding as the murderer tried pretended to be not affected. He struggled with his mask, trying to let more oxygen in. It didn't matter how much he breathed, that blood was heading south. 

But his actions told another story.

When she 'tripped', the murderer let her take her sweet time getting back up. No arrows. No swings of his ax when she was at her most vulnerable. Sometimes, he roamed forward. Just a bit. Wanting to be closer. Blatantly sniffing at the air, wolfy pants winning over willed silence. The human walk of his giving away to the stalk of the wolf.

And the wolf didn't like the shit he was carrying.

Aimee watched him out the side of her eye. The disgruntled werewolf rolled his shoulders, trying to shake off the hunting gear he was carrying. Arrows dropped from his trembling hands, depleting the amount of sharp things he had on his person. She quietly approved. Aimee looked a little lower. And there it was. A bulge of thickness appearing between his legs. Just the outline and she saw it was much bigger than a human's cock. Thicker and curved for hooking right in.

Forgetting he was a murderer, and that took some effort, his thickness was tempting. What could she say. She liked cocks she had to climb on.

It didn't take long for her naughty images to go to work. Making her pussy ache and throb, her panties damp and clinging to her dripping pink folds. He was a very big man, arms that could lift and carry her whichever way. She liked well-built men like that. Trent wrestled in his spare time and had the body to show it. But this man, he was even thicker. Meatier. And yes, she hadn't forgot. Killer werewolf. Bad news.

The murderer smothered a growl, the nails on his hands becoming claws. God, he wanted to sniff her so bad.

Just the thought of having that man between her knees, Aimee moaned. She wantonly opened and closed her hips, fanning her female scent his way. Along with a floral scent, her womanly aroma made a nice mix. The murderer keened, fighting with himself. He sounded almost in pain. Manly grunts in distress. The need to fuck was overpowering the want to kill.

Time to seal the deal.

Animal shifters but specifically werewolves were all about tradition. Tradition being a kind way to describe it.

They couldn't think past their arousal during their ruts during the blood moon. In truth, they turned as dumb as the animals they transformed in. Bound to repeating their actions. The reason rut-induced sexual assaults weren't commonplace was because they needed their rut to happen in a specific order from a willing partner. First the sniffing, cuffing, nipping and the other animal marking shit they did before they even thought about trying to get down to it.

Push a animal shifter away before they finished their sniff, they'd be compelled to continue sniffing until they finished. Push them away again. They'd sniff some more. Do you get the picture?

Aimee 'tripped' again but this time she made the standard mounting pose. Hips perched in the air, legs spread wide. She slowly shook her hips, swaying into her action. Pretending he was already inside, taking her with no mercy.

The sound that followed wasn't human at all. It was a very much put upon wolfy snort. Clear confusion. The wolf in him couldn't connect the dots. Her in the mounting position meant they'd did all the marking customs. And they hadn't. The wolf couldn't remember, couldn't use complex ideas. So why, his dog brain had to be spinning in circles, was she in position to receive his seed?

She had a sigh of relief. Thank god for dog brains.

The murderer dropped to his knees, smelling the ground and trying to resist his change. Fur grew along those strapping arms, coating him in bark-brown hairs.

Aimee didn't bother to watch the rest.

He'll run off. Go find a male or female of his kind and make with the birds and the bees. Another thing about werewolves. They preferred having their ruts in animal forms with fellow wolves.

As a human, well, mostly human, Aimee wasn't in any danger of having his attention turned to her.

Aimee skipped away, entering a less dense part of the forest. Close to the highway, she saw headlights flashing by. Aimee cupped her hands around her mouth and shouted for help. A river of truckers had the road this hour but she hoped one of them might give a damn. She shouted again, trying louder until another cross-bolt flew by her curly hair.

“You psychotic asshole-” she tried to say. Another arrow came right after the first. “You just don't give up, do you?”

The murderer switched up his method. Unwilling to let her go. A cross-bolt careened through the space, a direct hit to her shirt. Aiming not for her body, her witchblood didn't bother to ward it away. Aimee ignored it, tearing the arrow out herself. So close. So fucking close. The highway was right there. She made it a little further before he continued, three more cross-bolts nailing her to the trunk of a willow tree.

“Fuck!” Aimee gripped the nearest arrow, trying to yank it out. Damn, it wasn’t working. The murderer was coming closer, his looming shadow first to touch. Aimee angled herself around, refusing to let the bastard kill her without seeing her face. “Fuck off. Just-” She blubbered, tears running down her face.

She didn’t want to die. Not like this.

Real witches wouldn’t be scared. You couldn’t kill one without cutting out her heart, hiding it from her for a year and then dropping it in the Swanson River. But that was a witch in her prime. Aimee wasn’t that. She hadn’t cared. Hadn’t considered that in college, magic would honestly matter outside of Gardenia Grove. On her own, Aimee was just a little smart, a little clever but that didn’t mean anything to that unrelenting monster coming closer.

His ax made contact with her throat, forcing her to lift up her jaw. So close, the blade made a thin cut. Fresh blood to replace the old. Their eyes met. Silence. The murderer moved himself closer, putting himself a safe but odd distance.

Like he wasn’t sure what she would do next.

Aimee waited. For something. Anything. Her knees shook, sweat breaking out along her body. The murderer was content to just stand there. He sniffed the air, more wolf than human but still controlled. The beast collared by his endless willpower.

“Are you wearing her clothes?” he asked point-blank. "Is that how you are tricking my nose?"

What? It took a moment for Aimee to process the question. Cause, you know, the sicko hadn’t _chopped off her head_ yet.

The murderer didn’t bother waiting for her response.

“How are you doing _that_? That right there. All this time, I'd been waiting for that smell to fade. And it's still going strong. Mercy, woman."

The murderer sniffed her, moving his face to rest in her hair.

God, this was weird. Where was all the murderous intent from before?

The tension in the air was pushed out the way by the sheer awkwardness he was doing. Trying to smell her with that metal thing on his face. What did he mean by clothes, anyway? The skirt was Lydia’s. The tank top is from a clothing store. Nothing special about either of them. Did he know Lydia? Was this some grudge thing? She messed with his pack or something? As far as she knew, her cousin Lydia kept to her regular haunts in Gardenia Grove. Too busy establishing herself a successor to Auntie Teresa’s seat on the witch council to even consider heading to a party in the backwoods.

Aimee crossed her arms, trying to not being affected. Her mind couldn't take any more stress. Didn't he know it was rude to outright smell people?

The murderer fiddled with his mask, lifting it up to get even closer. He sniffed deeply, moving his nose to the side of her face. Enjoying himself. She tried to look at him, see something more identifying than a side profile, but he put an hand on her shoulder. A warning to keep her eyes to herself. Oh come on, he couldn't look that bad. His lightly shaved beard brushed up against her soft black skin, the motion and his bristling little hairs oddly soothing. The murderer never lingered too long. From her head to her ears to her neck, he scented. Refusing to accept the whatever conclusion his wolf instincts came to. Pink lips lightly moved along her skin, tight and thin, like he was considering cuffing her. Licking her. Biting her with his mark.

"Still smelling human but not all human." he said at the end of his inspection. "You are but then you ain’t.” he kept talking, shocking her into silence. Hadn’t he met a witch before? Hello! There was a big city right next door, hundreds of witches living there! “The scents keep fighting each other.”

He got closer, smelling deeper. His voice was interesting. Deep and raw like hot tar being layered on a street. It shocked her. She expected something cartoonish to match the figure he made in her mind. The murderer sounded like a real person. Murderers normally are but his demeanor was casual, disarming. It was a trick right? He liked to chit-chat before killing his prey.

Standing close, Aimee got a better look at his frame.

Soundly built, the man was all robust and fit. His huskiness more muscle than fat. Broad shoulders that suited him. His tan spotty in places like he often covered up. Pinker skin where the sun touched, whiter skin where it didn’t.

“I didn’t know changelings could do that? Rude things you are. Gathering all those humans on my land and trying to make a feast of them. You could have done that anywhere else but you chose my territory. Mine.”

“I’m a witch.” Aimee said for the umpteenth time. “Fuck off.” she added for good measure.

But seriously, changelings? She tried to think back on those girls before.

Who were they _exactly_? Transfer students. That she was sure of.

Aimee remembered faces but nothing specific came to mind. No facial features. No distinguishing marks. Tattoos? Outfits? It all blurred together. They had heads and bodies but that was it. Her mental image was fuzzy. One of them was blonde. _Maybe_? Could have been a brunette. What did she know about changelings? A type of fairy folk that god their kicks off replacing humans and now apparently making a big trap for anyone gullible enough to show up a remote mansion deep in the woods.

God, it was _changeling_ s wasn’t it?

“Witches don’t come round these parts.”

“But I am.” Aimee moved a hand onto ax, pushing at it. He let it move, watching her all the while. She lifted her neck, blood cooling on her neck. “I can’t believe I’m saying this but lick me.”

“How do I know it isn’t a trap?” He eyed her, all gruff with his voice now. The werewolf needed to chill with his aggression issues, jumping from one to ten in less than a second. “For what I know, one of you pixie fuckers could be inside the body right now. Piloting her corpse in some convoluted plan to take me out of commission. Picked a blood moon night to set up shop. But you personally? Don't smell all human. Certainly don't act human with how you warded away my tranquilizer darts. Arranged things so I’d go running after your fine ass to midnight on the dot. ”

Aimee blushed and fought the reflex. That wasn’t a compliment. That was a backhanded compliment that didn’t deserve any of her attention. This all could have been avoided had the werewolf said something earlier. What if she been human-human? She’d been killed. And those weren't tranquilizer darts! They were arrows. Things that were going to hurt her.

She called him out on it. "Tranquilizer darts? Don't lie to me. You were hunting me. You still are. Fuck you, you lying werewolf dick-head serial-killing son of a-"

He snorted at her and pulled out a cross-bolt. Using his thumb to take off the arrow-head, he tilted it slightly. Medicine-smelling fluid came out.

“This could be the next step in your plan." the werewolf kept on talking crazy. "Poison.”

Still wasn't her fault. Who shot arrows at people?

“Changelings are scatterbrains.” Aimee said, growing annoyed. “They don’t have the ability to _not_ be greedy. Look at the size of that party? A hundred people showed up when they could have grabbed a human one at a time. And you already killed the ones responsible. So what is your deal?”

"My deal is my land. So you ain't a changeling. Whoop de do. Congratulations, I won't kill you at this second. But I don't know you and I don't like dealing with unknowns. Sometimes, it's better to kill first than to ask questions. What if this is a long-term plan?" there he went again, talking nonsense. "How do I know? The wolf in me wants to put you between my teeth. Make a mess out of you. The man, oh, you don't want to know what he plans to do to properly identify what type of fairy- "

“I’m being super fucking generous here!" she shouted, hands clutching her shirt to keep herself steady. This _asshole_ \- "You hunted me for _miles_. My clothes are fucked. My night is ruined! Fuck you and your wolf. I don't give a damn. You don't lose anything by letting me go."

"I am making an offer." Aimee steeled her voice. "A damn special one if you know your witches. We don’t give our blood out so easily. Take my witchblood, feel invincible for a few hours.” Aimee said, rolling her eyes. “Just take the blood. Learn the truth. And-”

The werewolf finished her sentence.

“Fuck off?”

“You got it.” she forced herself to smile. “Lick me.”


	2. The Conquest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How long they were together, united by his knot, she didn't know. Seconds felt like hours. Hours felt like seconds.

In hindsight, telling a werewolf to taste her witchblood under a blood moon was probably a bad idea.

Just Aimee saying the words, giving him _permission_ \- He couldn't move the ax quick enough. Two arms walled her in, surrounding her on all sides with his great height and imposing figure. And hell, she wouldn't want to get away with the look the werewolf was giving her. Human eyes warred with wolf ones. Didn't matter who was in charge, his pupils dilating in lust and need.

His eyes couldn't decide between intelligent burning yellow or bestial gleaming gold.

How the werewolf looked at her, god she couldn't describe. Not like meat. Not like prey. Not even as a woman he was trying to take to bed. He stared at her like she was the moon, sun and stars. The whole cosmology crafted into human form.

Relishing in having her here, relishing her blood free to pass through his lips.

Hell, he was interested. Was interested the whole time he chased her. To take her blood now would have ended this. This moment between them. She'd leave. And he knew it.

Aimee studied his face now that he didn't bother to hide it.

Tanned. Claw marks weaving up around his neck and chin, three jagged lines from a creature she couldn't identify. Not wolf for sure. Brown hair. Chestnut with the tips dyed blond from the sun. He was handsome in a lumberjack kind of way. Large chin.

And those eyes, yellow or gold, it was like she was staring into headlights.

The werewolf went in. The warmth from his husky breath distracting, her skin twitched and tensed. He was so taller than her that he had to bend slightly and spirits, she couldn't stop the needy desire of such a strong man to be between her legs passing through her body. A mountain of man like him trying to arrange himself to sniff and lick as long as possible. Was she really worth all the attention?

He wasn't discrete about it. Didn't bother playing head games.

Not even bringing his tongue out, the werewolf's fine lips wandered her neck. Pressing hard. Pressing light. His nose wasn't too far behind either. Going to places he avoided before. Behind her ears. Under her chin. To even her collarbone, nosing the flushed skin there. Aimee fought to keep her eyes open. What was this really? Less than a few minutes ago, she was his hunt and he the hunter.

How could things change so fast and why did she want it to? Want it to go further than this here?

“I-” Aimee started to say. _I what?_

Was she honestly ready for someone else other than Trent? Ever since her boyfriend left, she couldn't say she enjoyed life with him not in it. Listless and distracted, she'd been looking for something different. Something replace the space he left. And look where her search brought her, a tall and dark stranger. Maybe fooling around with him, this man and wolf, wouldn't be a bad thing.

A bit of rebound sex to remind her she was still somebody worth loving.

Starting at her waist, the werewolf's hands began to lift her tank top. He didn't even seem to notice he was doing it, one part of him latched to her neck while the rest played down south. Up and up her shirt went, revealing dark skin and a taut belly. Cool air passed through the thin space between their bodies. Didn't do damn for her burning blood and the desire heading below.

Even with her shirt up, Aimee felt like she was on fire. And the even hotter hands on her weren't helping.

His thumbs brushed against the bottom of her bra cups, inching up the undergarment. Aimee bit her lip, wondering if she should say something. Sweat trickled down the underside of her fat breasts, little pearly drops twinkling in the night. What perfume she wore, spritzed lightly for a different kind of one night stand, filled the air. Light jasmine spice and sugar.

The new smell caught all of the werewolf's attention.

More beast than human now, he struggled to lift the entirety of her shirt and bra. Trying to get rid of the flimsy protection between him and his prize. Dumb thing yanked and yanked, forgetting about the two arrows that plunged through her tank top. She moved a hand to stop him but he had enough of her tank top. It tore. A large gap appeared along her side looking like a poor fashion statement. The werewolf wasn't satisfied. He turned his attention to her straps. Both the green belong to her tank top and the blue to her bra.

With his sharp teeth, the werewolf gnawed through each one. Her tank top fell out of sight and but her bra carried on strong. Well, she wouldn't miss the tank top. It was a cheap shirt but her bra on the other hand.

Saving them both the trouble, Aimee unhooked it. She could mend the straps later.

Her titties out and about, the werewolf buried his face between them. Mmmh, that beard of his was even more ticklish here. Aimee stifled a laugh, going to weave her hands into his scalp. Her soft mounds jiggled around the werewolf's head, slapping light against his cheeks. Every single breath he took vibrated against her tender skin, making her pant and shift on her feet.

“Hey,” she murmured, breath faint, “You're supposed to be licking me.”

The werewolf made a faint sound of agreement and brought out his tongue.

“Not there,” she chided, “On my neck.”

She got a wolfy snort in response and he went to work licking between her breasts. Guess he'll get back up there eventually? _Spirits, his tongue._ Her legs buckled, frantic jolts of pleasure having nowhere to go. So wet and warm, the pink limb grazed along the curve of each breasts. Making her mounds bob and bounce from his exploration. The fleshy slaps sent her heart into overdrive, each beat thudding straight into her ears. Smiling along her skin, the werewolf wasn't all that different from a normal one. Smug as he could be about putting her heart into distress.

Sharp teeth nipped and rubbed against her skin.

Aimee worried a little, readied her elbow to slam into his face if need be. But then she relaxed. Not a scratch on her despite his need to take her titties into his mouth. How could he be so gentle with such large fangs? Shit, is this what he meant by the wolf wanting her between his teeth. Those bleak whites gleamed in the moonlight spilling down overhead. Hell, if she pretended the rest of the night hadn't happened, and that included dog brain mauling her shirt, this was nice. This _thing_ between them okay to be in.

Slowly, his tongue made it to the pliant ring of dark flesh where her brown nipples sat.

Dotting on them with insatiable affection, the werewolf coaxed her nubs into stiffness. Hard and perked, he took one nipple in at a time. Sliding the supple nub between his fangs and sucking on it until she cried out. Her hands gripped his hair harder, pushing him further on the pleasured flesh. He ran her weak nipple around his teeth, stirring even more bubbling gasps from her lips. She bit down on the inside of her cheek. Not wanting to make so much noise.

They were even doing anything _interesting_ and she was already so hot and bothered.

Done with that nipple, he went to the other. Noisily sucking it until Aimee's knees jerked forward, digging into his slacks. The werewolf huffed against her, bring one hand to fondle the unattended breast. Thumb stroking her saliva slick nipple, Aimee was driven into a fever. The hazy buzz building in her veins ignited into bliss.

Just with his tongue alone, she was going to cum.

Aimee leaned on him, body buckling all the while. Her clit ached and throbbed, pressing hard against her underwear. Her pussy gushed, wetness flowing in warm rivets. She breathed against her, shuttling breath into meaningless sputtered words.

And then she came, her whole body seizing up. Her hips quaked, thighs trembled, feet curled and her fingers went limp, twitching all the wild. Aimee might have screamed. She might have cried. One sultry wail to go along with the hot tiny tears that appeared on her eyelids. But she couldn't know for sure. The sheer absoluteness of her orgasm rattling through her body left her in a broken state. Not a sound to be heard over the white noise her mind left on as it escaped to rapture.

As she slowly came to, weak like a newborn fawn, the werewolf had left her breasts.

Pink and thick, his tongue grazed along her neck. Aimee shivered, the magic of her blood being lapped into his mouth. The thin cut his ax made already healed by her witchblood protection. It was good for minor wounds if anything else.

But her skin ached with purpose. The red liquid inside flaring at the closeness of a supernatural creature.

Determining the werewolf to not be a threat, her witchblood simmered in her veins, raising her sensitivity to him even more. Her hips trembled, hands reaching out to clutch on the werewolf's lumberjack shirt. He was only on her neck but her blood moved his thorough ministrations everywhere. Phantom touches licking between her thighs, her knees, her belly and even there, her pussy.

Damn, it felt so good.

Aimee rode the sensation, unable to escape the invisible tongues. She panted, squirming and pushing up against the werewolf. He quirked his lips at her, not all that happy with being interrupted from claiming her left ear. The werewolf leaned on her, his strong chest pressing her back against the tree.

With one sharp move, all her precious air was forced out.

Aimee’s lungs weighed down by his size. Firm breasts squished between his body. Hard nipples flat against him. His thickness pushed against her belly and waist, the length a little unbelievable. As hard and rigid it felt, it had to have been a shotgun or something.

Aimee writhed against him, gasping and trying to use her hips make him move.

The werewolf ignored her, his tongue pestering her earlobe. He eased his weight slightly, remembering somewhere in that licking frenzy of his that she needed to breathe.

A knee inserted itself between her legs, cocking her shaking hips open. What was he- The werewolf pulled out last arrow trapping her to the tree. The one embedded through her ruined skirt. Did he need more room? With just his knee, he hoisted her up. Oh. Couldn't do that with the arrow still there. She wrapped her legs around him, following his lead.

Aimee blushed, her panties grinding against the front of his slacks.

The fabric soaked and sagging, it couldn't keep her sweet juices from running down her slender legs. Nor the sounds her movement made. The squelching of her pussy lips and clit rubbing against him. Wetness staining both of their clothes. Somewhere in those poor slacks, his cock twitched. Aimee readjusted her position, aiming for where the tip of his cock might be. That curved hardness just out of reach.

Aimee rolled her hips, wanting more so much more.

The noise echoed in the cluster of trees and the last stretch of land to where the highway laid. Distant car lights dots of speckled light against the willows and oak trees. Aimee closed her eyes, resting her face against his shoulder. Her hips making rabbity thrusts, another orgasm right on the way. This was weird. This was really, really weird. How could she ever mention this night to anyone? She was, more or less, _dry-humping_ a werewolf. Aimee moaned, trying to stifle the sound. It was there, her climax. It was almost-

“Done.”

The werewolf stopped, pulling his mouth away from her.

“You are what you say you are.” he said, putting her down.

Aimee stared at him, lips moving but no words coming out. Wait. _Wait!_ Her hand reached out, tugging on his shirt. They weren't done. She hadn't cummed yet and Aimee was in the mood to help him out as well.

“I'm sorry for disturbing your night. Honest mistake.” The asshole wouldn't even look her in the eye. Trying to shuffle out of her iron-tight hold. She gripped harder. “Girlie, I'm trying to leave for your own protection. Please let go.”

“What for? You didn't give a damn about that before.”

“I didn't want to mount you before. And for sakes, don't say something you'll regret.”

Aimee knew exactly what he meant. Four easy words.

“You can mount me.”

He growled at her.

“No, I can't. Not tonight. I wouldn't be able to stop. Even if you begged and screamed.”

“You? You're the single most weirdest werewolf I'd even met. Don't play. We both know who rules who in that body of yours.”

She lightly laughed.

“It's okay. I-”

Aimee ducked her head, cheeks burning as she came right out with it.

“I want you. Moon or no moon. Tonight. Now.”

The werewolf went silent and then-

“I wouldn't want to stop. Me the real dumbass who couldn't leave you alone. If you were just a changeling, I would have let go you. Tracked you later to find where the rest were. But you, looking as you do, I didn't. And that wasn't right.”

“That's why you are going to make it up to me by fucking my brains out. I think that would make us even.” Aimee let him go and walked a few feet away. Feeling his eyes desperately follow her. “So do I need to repeat myself? I want you to mount me. Tonight. Right under this red moon where anybody could catch us. Now, Mr. Wolf-man.”

Aimee headed back to the clearing, gazing at the flowers filling the small meadow without a peep from him. She rolled her eyes. Aimee leaned down and picked up a stray dandelion. Mooning the werewolf all the while. Was he really going to let her go? Well, didn't that make her just the fool-

First came the stalk. Then the lunge.

Aimee was pushed down to her stomach, flattened by the werewolf. On hands and knees, she tried to force herself up. He smacked her ass in reproach. Large palm meeting her tight ass with a satisfying clap. Aimee leaned away, throwing her hips against him in a bid to knock him off. Damn, he wasn't moving an inch. With a hand on her neck, the werewolf pushed her soundly into the ground. Her hips pushed, lifting against him. Torn jean skirt bunched around her waist.

The werewolf snorted a wolfy pant at her, amused at her antics.

Just the mere sound and her pussy stirred right back up. Goddamn, this wolf shit was turning her on.

He removed the hand, trusting her to behave. Aimee gripped the flower stalks and played along. The werewolf pulled her legs apart, forcing her to display her ass-hole and pussy. Fingers hooked around her panties, yanking them down nice and slow. The summer night air didn't do a thing to cool the heat between her legs. Her clit throbbed, wanting some attention. The werewolf sniffed along her thighs and chunky cheeks. That beard of his against her vulnerable skin incited light girly giggles. Could have been called flirty if she could keep a straight tone, her voice wavering between wanton whore and loud virgin.

Then came his tongue, longer than before, exploring that lovely space.

Aimee pushed her legs back, trying to capture his face between her thighs. Before she knew it, her wet slit made contact with chin. Spirits, he brought his tongue to her pussy. That pink limb snaking and stroking her clit. She moaned into the dirt. Finally. Her poor clit was attacked by his tongue, licked and swiped until it burned. Her slit gushed, sweet juices smearing on the werewolf eating her out.

She struggled onto her elbows, wanting to see the sight. Damn, it was worth it. Look at that big-ass werewolf, his head bobbing up and down like he was sucking on a lollipop. It was dirty and crude. Him slurping her down.

The werewolf licked upwards, swiping now at her needy slit. She squealed, her voice going higher. His tongue circled her hole, teasing her wanting flesh. “Please.” The wet limb went in, forcing out a scream. “Fuck!” Her inner walls was under siege by that masterful tongue. It swiveled inside her, kneading her walls to make room. Tight pink flesh sweet-talked into loosening up.

Aimee panted, her hips shaking and her pussy clenching. There it was again, her release.

Tears running out the sides of her eyes, she came. Her body seized, spasming as the overflowing gratification rushed through her sensitive nerves. From her quaking hips, to her vibrating thighs, to her back arching, to her hands gripping, to her feet flailing inside her shoes, the pleasure surged.

The tongue was still inside, going deeper and deeper. Now that her body was limp with bliss, the werewolf grabbed her hips. He pulled her up, still fucking her with his tongue.

She closed her eyes, her pussy weakly clinching. Did he think she wasn't loose enough for him? That relentless tongue brushed past her bundles of sensitive flesh and hit something. Something in the cervix area. Her entire body jerked for him, the sensation cutting right through her afterglow.

Aimee yelped, trying to move her body away. How far inside her was he?

His tongue explored that something. Not directly touching it as before but massaging the flesh around it. Slow gentle circles. That felt, Aimee sighed in relief, a little better. Once he was done, he pulled out. The werewolf touched her trim belly, palming her skin. His fingers right where his tongue had been.

“You don't have to worry about getting me pregnant.” she said over her shoulder. This was a good time as any to talk before things got too serious. “I'm on the pill. And I trust you're not carrying anything that would require us both to take a test. So feel free to cum inside.”

“Hmm-” he chuckled. The man in him back in control. “Yes, ma'am. I'll fill you right up. Pill, no pill, I'm gonna make you into a pretty cum-stuffed thing.”

“Wow, was that your version of dirty talk?” she said, resting on her elbow. “That folksy accent might give you a few points but that was porno levels of cheesy.” Aimee glanced at him, loving the flat look he gave her. “What. Offended?”

“Girlie. With no disrespect. I don't think you have any leg room for talking considering how quick you've been cumming since I got my hands on you. And Girlie, when I'm done, you'll won't be walking either.”

The werewolf tugged the rest of Aimee's skirt off. Damn, her cousin was definitively going to make her life hell. Without the jean skirt, she was completely naked. Well, she still had her wedges. She unclipped them and threw the useless shoes far and wide over her head. She flexed her toes, working out the kinks in her heels and ankles.

 _Now_ she was completely naked.

Aimee crossed her arms over her chest. “You know this isn't fair.” she said, gesturing to her nude state. The werewolf still had his shirt and slacks. “Come on.” She turned over and went to where he knelt, unbuttoning the plaid lumberjack shirt.

Muscles and pale flesh greeted Aimee’s hands, toned abs perfect to take a lime shot off.

She moved to his slacks, unzipping the prize in his pants. Springing out his manhood, she stared at the massive size and ridiculous girth. His cock was as long as a shotgun. Damn. “Human cocks usually aren't supposed to look like this.” she mumbled, mouth watering at the sight. So thick and curved, the shaft saluted her, veins visibly throbbing under the pinkish mottled flesh.

“Blood moon.” the werewolf grunted out. “Bet you're thinking twice now.”

“No, I'm just thinking how I'm going to get that fucker in.” she replied, her hand brushing against the thick cockhead. His girthy shaft tilting to chase her naughty fingers enticing the meaty thing. Oozing with white creamy pre-cum, her hand became nimble and quick. Moving with ease around such a crown of a cock. “With a stick this big, what on earth did you need an ax for?”

The werewolf grinned at her.

“Confidence. I like that.”

The werewolf eased Aimee back onto the flowers, the crushed plants sticky and wet under her. Plant nectar and more releasing and clinging to her curvy body. He perched himself between her legs, caressing her thighs, wide hips and bubble-shaped ass with his lips. His thumbs, nails now tipped with claws, brushed against the underside of her knees. Playing with the responsive flesh there.

Kissing the dips in her hips, Aimee reclined out for him. Wondering what would be his next move. Was he going through the normal werewolf mating dance or was he being nice, thinking she couldn't handle his cock?

His hand pressed hard on her belly, resting right where her womb was located.

Aimee twitched at that, lifting herself up to have a proper look but before she could get on her elbows, the werewolf slid right in. She fell back, wordlessly screaming. Damn, it was just the tip. His large meaty cockhead barreling through her small hole, the curve of his cock forcing her slit to widen for the shaft that was to come.

She grunted, her heels digging at the ground. Trying to find something to push against.

“Last chance.” the werewolf said, pleased as punch to watch her flounder under him. Her pussy clinched and clutching the thickness inside. Her hole so damned stretched, gaping even, on his mighty cock. He jerked his hips, dragging his cockhead against her inner walls. Aimee moaned and struggled more, kicking at him. She didn't want him out. His fullness, his size, both below and above, shit-

“I'm,” she panted one word at a time, “ready.”

The werewolf snapped his hips back, thrusting the rest of his cock right in.

Aimee arched, her body alight from unmitigated pain and pleasure sinking into her very bones. Her teeth clinched, hot heartfelt hisses and sobbing pleasured cries taking turns with what air was left in her lungs. Though his cockhead was a damned beast, the rest of his cock was a whole different animal. It flared inside her, stretching her battered pussy even more.

He touched her stomach again and there it was, visible, that massive thing bulging inside of her

The werewolf's pace was insane and vicious. He pistoned in and out, his hips moving a breakneck speed. She moaned against him, digging her nails into his shoulders and breaking skin. Her feet locking behind his hips, hooking around him just to stay on.

Looking into his eyes, she couldn't make out the difference anymore. Man or wolf.

The werewolf savagely plunged his cock further in, his hot seed bathing her sensitive walls. Her breasts slapped and clapped together, the slight sting somewhat helping her stay above the hazy trance her body was falling in. Doing nothing but receiving his thrusts, her pussy snug around his cock. Their bellies rubbed against each other, slick skin even slicker with the sweat breaking out between them. Chests so close, she could hear his heart pounding away, the speed far faster than a normal human.

Then, for no reason at all, the werewolf rested his head against her shoulder.

Fangs out, teeth scraping the skin there. Tongue licking. Lips kissing. His thrusts became slower, sweeter. Easy strokes that allowed her to really push her hips back and take him in. “I shouldn't-” his voice was hard to understand, gutter words with a growl distorting everything else that followed. Didn't matter what he said. Aimee put two and two together when he bit into her shoulder.

The pain, holy fuck, the pain seared. His fucking teeth digging straight into the muscle and her blood trickled out. Did he just _mark_ her? Wolf in him so damn delighted with her that he needed to start a magic bond between them then and there. They'd have to have a talk about this later. Aimee wasn't looking for anything serious even if Mr. Wolf-man fucked her like no other. And here came his tongue, licking her pain away. His saliva must have had something in it. Soothing the wound until it was a light smarting ache. And with her witchblood out and about again, her magic went into overdrive.

 _Claim him_ , the primal magic instructed. _Bind him_.

Aimee fucked her away onto his lap, throwing back her hips until he moved, _her_ werewolf preoccupied with tending to the bite mark. She rode his cock, hips going up and down while she held onto his shoulders as a hold. In this upright position, it didn't even matter that _her_ werewolf was sitting down. He dwarfed her, making a full figured woman like herself seemed like a tiny waif on top of him.

His cock jerked inside her, the pre-cum seeping out her slit and smearing her legs. He was close.

Aimee clenched around him, trying to keep every drop inside. “Mercy,” he mumbled, weakly trying to push her off. His shaft was beginning to swell, the flesh thickening inside. “I'm about to knot. Split you right open if you don't get off.”

“You can sure try.” her witchblood said, using her mouth to talk. The grand matron of the city possessed her body, Gardenia herself. Aimee fought against it, unable to close her lips. “Thought your whole worthless clan died out, _William Halloran_. Serves you and yours right for siding with my sister, you backstabbing mutts. How are you enjoying exile by the way? So lonely that you left a paltry scratch on one of my girls.”

William didn't waste a second.

“Out.”

Gardenia sneered at him.

“I'll leave when I feel like it.” she said, grabbing his face. Gardenia pinched his cheeks, nails drawing blood. “I know you Hallorans know where Hydrangea's heart is. You tell me and I'll end the curse seal I left on your precious patch of land. Having to deal with fairies, cultists, and other supernatural scumbags happy to use your holy earth as a ritual site must be horrible. Plus all those murders and massacres and public accidents all tied your name. That good _good_ name of yours. _Halloran_.”

“Keep my name out of your snake-tongue mouth, you black-hearted tower witch.”

“Oh please, what can you do about it?” she snickered. “Halloran, betrayer of the hearth.”

William scoffed, lifting Aimee's hips. He thrusted up, pounding her hole with renewed vigor. Gardenia screeched against him, her voice intertwining with Aimee's as they were rutted by his cock. He fucked deeper, slamming Aimee's wits right out of her brain. Her hips shook and she came, squeezing tightly around him.

Gardenia fled out her body, spouting curses and vendettas yet unclaimed.

Body now boneless like jello, Aimee had no protection when William came. He shot off a flood of cum, the surge overfilling her hole and pussy. White seed dribbled down her legs, painting her in cream. And there was still more, the glut of the cum outpouring into her depths. Her belly rippled, the skin around it expanding as his seed kept coming.

Aimee writhed around William, seeing stars and white. Her whole body was out of sorts, jerking and trembling. Her strength gone. Her voice a mewling cry. God, why was there so much? Her belly distended from her waist, a fat pudge sloshing with cum.

And once his cock stopped releasing, it grew. God, it _swelled_ inside her.

Aimee cried against him, her tears runny and hot. The shaft impaled her pussy, straining her sore pussy. William held her close, running his hands down her shuddering back. Murmuring sweet things to ease her pain. Soft kisses cascaded on her cheeks, each touch a lightness she needed. His tongue licked away her tears and Aimee put herself back together.

How long they were together, united by his knot, she didn't know. Seconds felt like hours. Hours felt like seconds.

Aimee rested on him, listening to his steady beat. Her eyes lowered, falling halfway. William settled himself in her hair, taking deep breaths of her scent. He had her. Him in his arms, the calming sound of his breath. The night ebbing into early morning. Birds aflutter. Bugs humming. The winds swaying the trees and grass. All was nice. All was good. The knot throbbed inside her, the thickness and girth something she was slowly adjusting to. Aimee squeezed around it, wanting to will it down. The cock responded. Slowly, so slowly, reducing in size.

Ah, that felt better.

Eyes heavy, Aimee fell asleep.

~~~000~~~

 

* * *

 

 

~~~000~~~

The next day, noon when they woke, they went back at it like rabbits.

Aimee was fucked into dandelions as William mounted her from behind. Fun fact about werewolves. The effects of a blood moon last up to a whole week. One of the best times to trigger a female's breeding rut and successfully sire the next generation. With Aimee not being a werewolf, and no impregnation to be coming her way thanks to be on the pill, who knew when William's wolf would give up. He bit her so now he wanted to prove himself by providing her with pups. An outdated notion but the thought was nice.

As of now, he showed no signs of stopping. And Aimee hadn't mind until he started getting paranoid.

Dog brain reigning supreme, he started snarling at the creatures that passed by. Birds. Squirrels. Foxes. All the small animals you'd expect to see in a forest. Did he forget that they were outside, fucking in public? Having enough of them being walked in on, he decided to move them. Without pulling out.

And that was an experience she, in her heart of hearts, might actually want to do again.

The pure bestial ownership he displayed, spreading her wide and getting on his feet. Aimee still soundly impaled on his cock, pink pussy filled with cum and her ass-hole slathered in white creamy cum. Her belly was even bigger than yesterday, swollen and round like she was three months pregnant.

Maybe all the excess cum was supposed to be a test run? Letting her know what the real thing might feel like.

As William walked off, her bouncing up and down on his shaft, Aimee came to a conclusion. She wasn't ready for another relationship. Not so soon after Trent. But maybe, if William was interested, they could take it slow. Just be casual fuck-buddies for a while.

They didn't make it far, his knot coming back. This time, Aimee was prepared for it. His cock swelled, forcing her inner walls to make room for the increase in size. Aimee rocked her hips, taking in both the discomfort and fullness. Goddamn, if anyone saw her like this. Her hoisted on a monstrous cock belong to a mountain-like man. She came, her inner walls tightening around the knot and forcing it to recede. Aimee threw back her head and moaned, silky-smooth pleasure pulsing through her veins.

William licked her bite mark, carefully reapplying his teeth to make sure the bite wouldn't heal.

Well, that was up to how Gardenia felt about the situation. A Davis was always a Gardenia witch and she didn't know a thing about the bad blood between the matron of the city and the Hallorans, whoever they were. But then again, Aimee wasn't a witch just yet. Hadn't taken her rites. Didn't know her spells. Just some potion knowledge and a knack for trivia.

Sometime after the knot went down, her werewolf came back to his senses. He led them over to a big tree with an open trunk, laying them both inside. The trunk had been carved out, the space warm and comfortable. Some clothing, his spares, hung on the side. Slacks. Jackets. A thick sheepskin coat. Winter gear, she guessed.

“I'm going to come out now.” he said, smiling down at her like the dearest thing in the world. Spirits, he should smile more. Those teeth, not fangs, but simple pearly white were a delight to behold. With his cheeks perked, his dimples came out clear and cute.

“Please do.” she purred back, gesturing to her stomach. “I wouldn't know how to explain my belly to the girls back at home.”

William pulled out, cum swiftly following after. Damn, that was a lot. It made a large puddle on the tree floor, warm and fresh-looking like milk from a bucket. Her belly shrunk, relieved for all that liquid to be out. William palmed her belly, fingers writing something she couldn't understand.

A magic symbol? Hmm, maybe she'll look up it once she got back. Cousin Lydia might know too. 

“Aimee Davis. Currently undeclared at Gardenia Community College.” she said to cut through the silence that fallen between them, realizing she never introduced herself. “Witch.”

“William Halloran. Currently an exile. Huntsman. Displaced huntsman to be specific.”

“Displaced?”

“A long story.” he sighed. “Followed my Alpha to war and this was the result. We got stuck in a petty squabble between witches. We don't know or care a damn thing about their troubles. We just want our name back.”

“It isn't Halloran?”

“Of course not, that name is a mockery of what we fought for. What we were at home. Ireland.”

William pulled out towels from a place she couldn't see. He mopped up the cum from the floor but curiously left her untouched.

“You missed a spot.” Aimee said, pointing at herself. She was splattered with white, droplets of sweat, cum and sex sticking to her thighs and legs. Splashes of his seed drying even on her chest and the middle of her back.

“No, I didn't.”

He pulled out his tongue and started licking.

**Author's Note:**

> I was totally inspired by Dead by Daylight. No lie. 
> 
> But I went to horror to fluff real quick. 
> 
> What can I say, I don't do non-con and I'm happy I didn't rely on dub-con either to write the story. And besides all that, I like these two and if I hadn't been so lazy, I could made a long-runner erotic urban fantasy horror fic out of this. But again, lazy. Onto the next short.


End file.
